Fifty Shades of Great White: Fifty Shades Sharker
by COLM
Summary: After Ana discovers Christian's secret desires will she continue to be comfortable as the object of his desires?
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER 1 : REMEMBRANCES**

I'm cold. Something is digging painfully into my arm and I'm unaccountably groggy. The last thing I remember is Mr. Grey - Christian, I think, he told me to call him Christian - stripping down and oh, oh my, he was seducing me wasn't he? And then, then something shocking, a fall and water and… sharks? Were there sharks?

A hand is grasping mine, I realize. My fingers twitch in response to this realization and I hear someone breathe in.

"Ana," Christian says, "Ana, are you awake? You had quite a nasty tumble."

I crack open my eyes and see Christian gazing down at me.

"Hey there," I croak out. "What happened?"

"You were quite overwhelmed by my advances, it seems. You turned quite the alarming shade of red and just keeled over."

"So… that wasn't just a dream?"

"Afraid not, my dear Ana. Though I can't say that I've ever had someone faint at the sight of me naked before."

I start to blush and get a little woozy.

"I had the strangest dream after I fainted, then. You were shouting about sharks, and um, well, pleasuring yourself."

Christian stares at me silently for an uncomfortable amount of time. He opens his mouth to say something and pauses, looking up. His secretary is peering around the doorframe.

"Oh, you're up! That's good. Christian, the execs at Sci-Fi Original Movies are on the phone and want your opinions on the latest batch of screenplays."

"Tell them to add more sharks."

"Sir, most of them are already predominantly shark themed."

Christian's hand tightens on mine.

"Add more sharks. Just keep adding sharks."

The secretary pauses for a moment and nods. She scurries out without another word leaving me and Christian alone.

"That thing about the sharks … that wasn't a dream either, was it?"

He shakes his head slowly.

"I have certain tastes, Ana. Most people don't understand them and some are disgusted by my habits, but I thought maybe, maybe you were different."

"You've certainly given me a lot to think about."

I move to brush a strand of hair off of my face but my wrist stops short. Very short. I look over and see I've been strapped down to the bed with leather belts. Christian totally has me at his advantage. I move my gaze to his stormy eyes and see something in there - a quick flash of something - raw emotion bubbling underneath the calm exterior he's projecting.

He sees the look in my eyes and suddenly stands up. Leaning over me, our faces inches apart, his breath warm and cinnamon sweet… I breathe deep of him as he nimbly grabs the wrist strap holding me down.

He growls into my ear, "Shit! Sorry, we had to tie you down so you didn't tear out your IV line - and now you're awake there's no need for it. I can't imagine what you thought of me; tied up against your will, without consent. I'm so sorry."

"It's fine. I'm just glad you're aware of the importance of mutual consent in these matters."

We both share a knowing nod.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2 : THE CHAPTER IN WHICH THEY SMOOCH**

"Speaking of mutual consent," I whisper, "Why don't we pick up where we left off?"

"Are you sure you're up for that? You're still recovering."

I scoff at him, "I'm not some fragile flower you need to protect, Christian. I can take care of myself, don't you worry. So let's do this."

"I'd love to, it's just - just…", he says, gesturing to the stark, shark-free room with a defeated look in his eyes, his back slumped, his complexion sallow, his eyes dull, his words whispered, his manhood pitifully floppy.

I grab him by his shirt and pull him on top of me. I look him straight in the eyes and in my gruffest voice whisper, "You're gonna need a bigger boat." His pants tighten as he goes stiff instantly and he grabs a handful of my hair.

"What was that?"

"You're. Gonna. Need. A. Bigger. Boat."

Christian obviously can't help himself any more. He presses his face to mine and kisses me, hard. He bites my lower lip and pulls away before I can respond. It hurts a little, but it's only just not painful. I moan into his mouth, giving his tongue an opening. He takes full advantage, his tongue expertly exploring my mouth, like a shark deftly navigating a reef. I have never been kissed like this.

The passion in that first kiss carried us for some time, our tongues darting, sharing each others' breathe for so long that we surfaced for great gasping pants before continuing anew. The passion – the power – so clearly evident in these kisses was setting me aflame. My body was craving Christian. I wanted him – needed him, so when his fervor started to die I inwardly lamented the fact that I only knew one line from Jaws.

Christian pulls back and sits on the edge of the bed, looking back at me.

"I hope you don't have any other plans for the evening, Ana."

"Why? Does this mean you're going to make love to me tonight, Christian?"

Holy shit. Did I just say that? His mouth drops open slightly, like a shark's at rest, but he recovers quickly.

"No, Anastasia, it doesn't. First, I don't make love. I fuck. Hard. Like a shark. Secondly, I need to go feed my sharks, and thirdly, you don't yet know what you're in for -"

"Sharks?," I interrupt. "I presume it's sharks I'm in for."

"Okay, fine, yes, it's sharks. Still, let a guy be melodramatic when the mood hits him, alright? Come, I want to show you my shark tank."


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3 : THE SHARK TANK**

The first thing I notice is the smell; the unmistakable scent of brine and sea creatures undercut with a rich, iron scent which I would never find out was the blood Christian would use to frenzy his sharks. The room was surrounded on all sides by glass. A soft blue light filtered in through the massive tank, reminiscent of moonlight on water. The room is dominated by a bare mattress in the center of the room. Considering I was expecting a shark themed bed I was pleasantly surprised.

"Do you like it?" Christian asked me, expectantly. "You can look at sharks here."

"Well, uh," I stammered. "Yes? Can we get back to the boning?"

"Boning?" Christian regarded me intently, his intent expression completely unreadable. He paused to stare into the murky depths of the tank where dark shapes could be barely seen drifting by. After three minutes he resumes his intent regard of me.

"Sharks don't have bones, they possess skeletons made of cartilage-"

"Christian. Shush. You can recite shark facts when your bone," I say, gesturing at his crotch, "is all up in this mess." I forcefully hump the air to indicate which mess, as I also notice a mess of chum hanging out in a bucket in the corner.

He turns away from me, a conflicted look on his impassive, unreadable face.

"It's just," Christian starts, "I… I-"

"What is it?" I ask, approaching him. "You can talk to me." I reach out and gently place my hand on his arm. He flinches away at the slight contact.

"What is it?" I ask, approaching him again. "Why don't you like to be touched?", I whisper, staring up into soft, shark colored eyes.

"Because I'm fifty shades of fucked up, Anastasia."

"What?"

"I'm real fucked up. Like fifty different ways."

"Oh, Christian," I sigh. "Everyone is."

"Everyone?"

"Yes, Christian. Everyone. A good deal more than you, as well."

"Wait, more fucked up than me?"

"Well yeah, I'd say most people are around 100 or 200 shades - your whole being a billionaire takes the edge off of things."

Christian sat down on the mattress and looked up at me, bewildered.

"How does everyone deal with it then? You know, without the solace of sharks?" he asked, gesturing at the sharks.

"You know, booze, drugs, smut. Casual sex."

"Casual… Ah. I understand."

Christian gives me a sly grin as he finally catches on. He rises from the mattress and stalks over to me. He pulls me close to him and I just breath him in as my heart thunders in my chest. My heart thunders so hard my boobs jiggle a little. Locking eyes with me he crouches slightly and grasps the hem of my dress. He teases it slowly up my body. The cool air of the shark tank room tingles against my skin, an almost exquisite torture. He pulls my dress completely off and stands back to examine me and absentmindedly folds my dress, not taking his eyes off me. He places it on the large chest beside the door, which I had just noticed was also in the room. Reaching up, he pulls at my chin, his touch searing me.

"Fuck!" I recoil. "Shit! What the hell, dude!" I clasp my hands to my chin, trying to gauge the extent of the burn.

"Let me apologize," Christian says, pulling off a pair of skintight gloves.

"Sharkskin gloves," he explains. "They can be quite painful if you are not used to their touch."

"As long as you continue to pull off your clothes," I wink, "I'll forgive you."

He does. He pulls me down to the mattress and we bang. We bang HARD. That was the night I discovered my inner goddess was just part of a whole inner pantheon - all of who Christian prayed to - long and hard. And long. And hard. Forget the fucking sharks - this is so worth it.

I lay in bed next to Christian, not quite touching him. I've been trying to say something for a while now but every time I open my mouth I'm hit with an echo of our lovemaking and quiver. I'm not sure how much time has gone by when Christian finally breaks the burgeoning silence.

"Did you know sharks have an organ that allows them to sense electric currents in the water?"

"Yes," I manage to reply. "They teach that in grade school."


	4. Chapter 4

I must have fallen asleep at some point because the next time I open my eyes sunlight is softly filtering through the shark enclosure surrounding me. Sharks drift lazily about the depths, somehow confident despite being, you know, animals. I have to admit - there might be something to this whole shark obsession. Christian is nowhere to be seen.

I clad myself in the discarded vestments laying around the room, wondering where Christian was. It seems out of character for him to be somewhere other than the room where sharks are. Unless there's more shark rooms somewhere else, I reason.

"Christian?" I hesitantly scream.

The door to the room opens several minutes later. It's Christian. He stares at me in silence for a solid 3 or 4 minutes. My heart begins to pound. My blood's pumping around my body. My sweat glands are operating at full capacity. Desire, thick and hot, pools in my belly. Desire's really not that nourishing, I notice.

"Is there any breakfast?" I ask. "I'm awfully hungry after all that blood loss yesterday."

"Yes, of course there's breakfast. Come with me."

He turns around and leads me up a flight a stairs. I just can't help but stare at his en-sweatpants-ed ass. You know what they say - I hate to see him leave but I love to see his butt. Do sharks have butts? Like does a fin count as a butt or is it the legs? They've got front bits for sure - and a front implies a back, right? They've probably got wacky nonsense junk too. I almost ask Christian but stop myself - I'm pretty sure if I get him started on shark genitals I'd regret it almost immediately. We finally arrive in a cozy, yet spacious breakfast nook. Good thing he's not asking what I'm thinking about, right?

"You look pretty lost in your thoughts, Ana. What are you thinking about?"

Shit. Think fast, girl! "The portrayal of animated skeletons in popular culture has always bugged me - bones aren't just for structure, they also make all of the body's blood. Skeletons should just be dripping red messes all the time - objectively far more terrifying and yet no one's even tried to do it justice. And if it's just a matter of animating dead bones - any object will -"

Christian's chuckle pulls me out of my rant. "I guess this is how it's like to be on the receiving end of one of my shark rants," he laughs.

"Except I don't have a sex room full of bleeding skeletons," I counter.

"Oh. Yeah, you got me there. Anyway, before we get to breakfast I'm going to need you to sign this."

Christian slides a thin sheaf of papers towards me on the counter.

"This is a non-disclosure agreement." He shrugs and has the grace to look a little embarassed. "My lawyer insists on it."

"Non-disclosure on what, exactly?"

"Oh, you know - taking an injured young woman to my private residence instead of the hospital, a bunch of intimate sex stuff, the address of my private house-"

"Your shark dungeon?"

"Oh, for sure. I am keeping far more sharks in my house than any law allows."

"Well I hate to break it to you, hunky-boy, but you've got a shit lawyer. NDAs only work for things disclosed after signing." I hope I'm not talking out of my ass here, but I really can't be bothered to google this before confronting him. "Plus, I'm not signing anything like that without getting something else out of it."

"I do still like you though," I smile. "Don't mistake this for a lack of interest in pursuing you."

Christian looks hopeful at this. "Would you then be interested in looking at the other paperwork too?"

"Other paperwork?"

"Yeah, the sex contract."

"Sex. Contract."

"Yeah, you know - a contract saying what we will and won't do, vis a vis all the sex acts. I need to know your limits, and you need to know mine. We need to make our stance on fisting very clear from the start. This is consensual, Anastasia."

"That is one hundred percent not how consent works, buddy."

Christian thwacks a thick folio down on the counter in front of me. It's got to be like sixty pages long, at least.

"This has got to be like sixty pages long, at least," I say. "Did that same lawyer help you draft this up?"

"Yes, he said this was the standard sex contract package."

"First, stop saying sex contract. It's never been and never will be a thing. Second, your lawyer is fucking with you. There is no way this is enforceable - this is honestly like something a sex trafficking ring would use."

I flip through the contract, reading bits and pieces. "Giving me a list of foods I have to eat off of, dictating what clothes I wear, mandatory exercise? Hell to the noooo. Please tell me a woman's never read this thing and voluntarily signed it."

Christian looks like his world is shattering around him. I think I need to give him a lifeline or I might lose him and his nice butt forever. I grab a pen and flip over the NDA and write on the back:

 **ANA AND CHRISTIAN'S RELATIONSHIP TERMS**

This here doc certifies that we like each other and would like to bang on occasion (provided both parties consent at the time). Ana will keep Christian's shark stuff to herself provided Christian makes an attempt at learning how normal people behave.

The end

Christian reads it and smiles. "I'm going outside my comfort zone here," he says. "But I'm willing to take a risky move for you."


End file.
